


à la fin du monde, songe à la douceur

by dolliebit



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: 7DtD AU, Found Family, M/M, Multi, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-14 20:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19280206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolliebit/pseuds/dolliebit
Summary: You're never getting that white picket fence in the zombie apocalypse.(Trevor has too much to lose already, you see, it'd be nothing but dumb luck if he doesn't lose it all.)





	à la fin du monde, songe à la douceur

**Author's Note:**

> i lost steam mid way through so please be gentle with me
> 
> [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k18pI-dp-D8) also had a bit of an influence, maybe

Alright, listen, it's not _Trevor's_ fault.

Things are very rarely ever Trevor's fault, and when they are it's due to extenuating circumstances that no one in their right mind would ever _truly_ blame on him, really, c'mon. It's just a shame so few in their little ragtag group of survivors were of right mind in the first place, isn't it, bunch of crazy bastards that they were.

Such a shame, and it all fell on Trevor's world bearing shoulders to keep them together, their very own Atlas of common sense and rationality. Stop Gavin from throwing a molotov in a gas station, warn Michael against getting a touch too trigger happy a touch too loud in the middle of infested suburbia, talk Ryan down from the prospect of searching for supplies in an abandoned prison because _what_ exactly do you think you'll find there Ryan, a whole lot of zombie prisoners Ryan, we're not going to waste stamina on a bunch of plastic shivs just because you think prisoners would have _cool shit_ , Ryan.

He's their Geoff-appointed levelheaded leader, he had to be practical about things. He had to keep them alive. All he ever thought about was keeping them alive.

So when _extenuating circumstances_ strike, really, who's blaming Trevor? Idiots, that's who.

They never do blame him though, and that might be a little worse than anything else.

 

/

 

It starts because of Geoff's little bad habit.

Beautiful, wonderful, awful Geoff, whom without none of them would have ever found each other. Whom without they would probably be dead or dying or out surviving for the sake of surviving, against the deadly combo of loneliness and hopelessness and a gun—as much of a danger as a zombie bite. Who can never ever be told this because his ego is larger than life already and the world is miserable enough. Fantastic, terrible Geoff and his penchant for collecting wayward strays and shitheads.

"Uh."

"Yo." She doesn't even look up, which, rude. Continues rummaging through one of their supply crates. "Who stockpiles Four Loko during the apocalypse? Shit's probably flat as fuck."

Trevor's a bit too stunned by this to pull out his gun, treat this girl ( _young_ , younger than Jeremy, back to him like she doesn't have a care in the world—) like any other survivor randomly invading their safehouse of the week. Too slow in the head that day to do anything but stare which—a good thing, all things considered, because through the window he spots Geoff running up the porch three seconds later.

"Trevor, man, have you seen this fucking kid anywhere—"

And he's got barely enough time to point at the girl crouched by their supplies before, she scoffs.

"I'm not a kid, you're just ancient."

Geoff shouts, and if the whole house wasn't awake they are now. Trevor watches in detached silence as Geoff grabs her shoulders and shakes. "Jesus, I turned around for a second and you were gone! You scared the dick off of me!"

"You were so slow, dude." She whines, shoving his hands off of her. "And hey, I found the house didn't I? It's fine."

Geoff releases this _noise_ , like he's dying or close to it, which Trevor thinks really that should be his line, shouldn't it, as the pieces click together in his brain. A groan will work it's way to his throat eventually, he just has to ride out this numbness first. Geoff's picked another one up again, that's all this was. And it was—fine, really.

He just needed to recount their stock, see if they had anymore space for another bedroll and if they _didn't_ then he'd have to take that into account with the next house they look for, and he needed to talk to the others. Oh boy, he needed to talk to the others.

 

/

 

It's not like Trevor's _that_ asshole, the sort of person who would want to abandon all other survivors to the undead wolves if he could help it. In a perfect world he'd love to help anyone they came across, really.

But a perfect world wouldn't exist in the middle of the apocalypse, would it. It wasn't like he didn't have a reason to worry. As buddy-buddy they all are now (as much of a family, really, who are you kidding, Treyco?), introducing people almost never went smoothly.

Prime example: Ryan, standing leaning in the corner of the dilapidated living room and getting damp wood mold across his back, arms crossed and closed off and face like stone.

On the other hand: Jack, Geoff's worst enabler on the best of days, and Ryan's best provocateur on the worst.

"Half of us are twice her size, Ryan, you really think she's gonna be a danger?"

Fiona's glaring as she yells, "I'm plenty dangerous, hello?" at the same time as Ryan grinds out, "Body mass hardly matters when someone slits you in your sleep for a can of miso soup."

Ryan clenches his jaw, but Trevor's distracted by Alfredo's incredulous laughter. "Dude, she's trying to help you!"

Trevor rubs the bridge of his nose and tries to tune out the bickering, focuses on Alfredo on the couch for his peace of mind. He's grinning wide and so amused as he helps Fiona fix up her ripped jacket with grass fibers, giggling occasionally as Fiona insists loudly on the fact that she could be a threat if she wanted to be. Trevor's glad at least someone's enjoying themselves.

Jack takes a long hard look at Fiona, and when Fiona trails off with the silence, unsure, she goes, "See? She's an idiot."

"Hey!"

Ryan storms out of the room in lieu of replying, and Jack follows after him, hot on his heels because she rarely if ever lets Ryan get off that easy. Alfredo's still snickering, and Fiona's stewing, and Trevor's very tired, suddenly.

Plops down on the couch and earns a gentle "Hey, you'll mess us up," from Alfredo as he goes back to concentrating on the jacket.

"God, what is my life." He says to the disabled ceiling fan, Alfredo shifts, and their arms press together, a gentle comfort.

Trevor gets a couple minutes of reprieve before the front door slams with such force it shakes the whole house, dust and grime knocked down from the rafters with the brunt of it. Despite her big talk Fiona jumps, and Trevor finally allows himself to _really_ look at her.

Because it's so easy to see how people get to where they are out here. It's so easy for anyone with a little bit of logic to deduce someone's _story_ , their _baggage_ , because there were only so many ways you could make it this far at the end of the world and each one left some type of scar.

Fiona carries it in the stillness of her body, perched on the edge of the couch cushion, grip a little firmer on her jacket than need be. Skittish and scrawny and too quick to fight in a way that reminds him of Jeremy, when they first met, of the old stories the rest of them tell of Michael. Only the balls of her feet touch the floor, pointed to the door, and Trevor realises she's been in that position since she sat down.

And maybe his first impression of her was wrong, where she had her back to him oblivious in a way that was almost unthinkingly trusting. Maybe she didn't trust anything except for her ability to get away.

"Ryan'll come around." He offers her, to be kind, to give her some peace of mind. Her eyes flicker to him with a hesitancy that makes him realise this is the first thing he's said directly to her. "He's had some bad experiences with other survivors, but everyone trusts Geoff when he vouches for someone, and he'll come around."

"Uh huh." She sounds unconvinced, he can't blame her.

Alfredo scoffs, prying the jacket from Fiona's hands to shake it out, testing the patched up stitching to see if it held. "Ryan's a fucking bitch." Is all he offers.

Fiona snorts, and then slaps a hand to her mouth to hide it, and Alfredo grins at her. Trevor realises this is the first time she's smiled in front of them too, teeth and gums and the same sort of crinkle in her eye that Alfredo has, all apple cheeks.

 

/

 

They’re trekking their way through a desert, group eleven strong and sticking out like a sore thumb across the flat horizon. Really, Fiona barely impacted that, they’ve always attracted attention, but.

Alfredo’s kind of over it, him, Ryan, especially. Arm slung around Fiona’s shoulders in a too easy camaraderie as they take the rear. Naturally Trevor takes _their_ rear, because it’s just safer, really, if he’s the lookout.

It’s hot, but Fiona doesn’t try to shove him off. It's not like she doesn't know what he's doing either, eyes flitting to the front of the group where Ryan's picking yucca bushes dry and avoiding looking back, but she's got an arm wrapped tight around his waist too. Laugh in her voice as she and Alfredo share a can of tuna between them and he tries to get her to chug the oil.

"Gross, no." She checks him with her shoulder, but doesn't let go and the two of them go stumbling off to the side in a hobble. "You fuck off with that, I'm not playing with you."

"But the _nutrients_."

"You do it then."

Trevor makes a show of checking behind them to cover how hard he rolls his eyes at the pause that follows. He can imagine the way Alfredo's pursed his lips perfectly fine. "...I bet Jeremy'll do it."

When his head finally swivels back 'round to them Fiona's eyes are sparkling, reaching for the can. "Gimme it."

Trevor slides up into the spot Fiona leaves after brushing off Alfredo, bounding to Jeremy with too much of a spring in her step to be anything good. Even though it's not as easy with their lack of a height difference, Alfredo's arm immediately comes to rest around him too. Trevor doesn't know where to put his hands. "She's great."

"You warmed up to her fast." He can't help the comment, he's been wondering too.

Feels more than sees Alfredo shrug.

"She needs someone in her corner right now."

Trevor hums. They're both watching her now, roping Gavin into it, and oh, despite his protests Jeremy is doomed. Already that big smile is dangerous, wide and bright and so hard to say no to. Trevor wonders if she really trusts them, if she should. If she's smart enough not to, but Trevor doesn't think anyone in their group is. Doesn't think distrust is too smart of a move either, really. Not when the last newcomer was met with such an explosive backlash it nearly split them all apart, for no good reason, and Trevor understands Alfredo's need to shield her from the brunt of it.

But Ryan's got his own story, his own scars, and Trevor understands that, too. Understands that it's just defensiveness, the kind that Trevor can't fault him for, not when despite every rocky beginning Ryan's just protecting all of them in his own way. Trevor just has to soften the blow for a bit, he's used to it.

"Well then, I'm in your corner too."

It's hot, but Trevor lets him when Alfredo pulls him tighter in.

"Yeah, you always were."

 

/

 

"Trevor, c'mere. I got something for you."

Alfredo does this sometimes. Comes back from scavenging with these little—and calling them trinkets seems disrespectful, almost, these bits of a life before that Alfredo's taken the time to salvage and bring back to him just because he knows Trevor would appreciate it. It's happened a few times since Fiona's joined them, and each time she's watched, curious and perplexed.

A busted ukulele two strings short that Alfredo lugs around through a two day trek to a trader just to bring it back because Trevor used to play guitar and it's close enough, right? Something dumbly sentimental in going through a Crack-a-Book card aisle to pick up and refashion a moderately-crumpled _Happy Father's Day_ to say _Birthday_ , nevermind the fact that winter's almost over and none of them know the exact month anymore. Little things that were really, actually, quite big, but Trevor doesn't know how to quantify them in a way that doesn't make his insides turn to goo so, he doesn't.

This time it's this little colourful pack Alfredo fishes out from his back pocket, palm-sized and faded and that's about as much as Trevor sees before it's covered by another hand.

"You ready for this?"

Always one for the reveal, because he's an idiot. Leaves Trevor in fond suspense for a good thirty seconds, before he unfurls his hands from the box he's cradling and Trevor barks a laugh because —

"Is that _Go Fish?_ "

"More kindling? Great." Michael pipes up lazily from the campfire, sarcasm with no heat.

Alfredo's grinning wide as they ignore him. "It's whatever we want it to be, baby. I don't see any rules on it."

"Aren't those the rules on the back?"

Smiles lopsided and cheekily at him as he snatches the box away, covering it up again. "Nah."

And Trevor might be smiling back a bit too dumbly for a bit too long. Spots Fiona's watching them, something in the wry curl of her mouth that makes his hair stand on end, makes him feel too seen. Says, with a strained sort of cheer, "We have new entertainment, boys!"

Gavin and Jeremy _whoop_ , and despite his grouching Michael looks pleased. Tells them to come eat their damn soup before they start throwing cards everywhere nonetheless.

 

/

 

As they eat dinner in a circle around the fire—Michael and Lindsay spooning soup out of the cookpot, Jack passing around bowls—Trevor catches bits and pieces of Fiona and Alfredo's quiet conversation running under the hubbub. He tries not to, it sounds private enough for him to feel guilty listening in, but he hears his name and, well, they're all a nosy bunch anyway.

Fiona's voice is casual for all that it's also restrained. "So, you and Trevor know each other before?"

"What? Before the collapse of society?" Alfredo laughs. "No, dude."

"Oh, wait, what?"

"The only ones here who knew each other before were Michael and Lindsay, Jack and Geoff." He explains patiently. "We all just sorta, came together after, bunch of asshole birds of a feather you know."

"But you…" Trevor can hear the confusion. Determinedly does not look up from his meat broth. "Nevermind, I guess."

"I was the newest, before you. It took me a while to get used to them too." He comforts.

"No, it's not that, it's just— " Waves her bowl around in an all encompassing gesture, even as her voice drops lower. "It's just, I haven't been here long, I don't know—you do a lot for him."

There's a pause in which Trevor's heart leaps into his throat and makes a home there.

He sees Alfredo take her hand, then, from his peripheral. "You know, it doesn't mean much right now. It doesn't _seem_ like it with Ryan right now." _Where_ is he going with this. "And lord knows I thought it was weird at first too, but this group's different, alright? We take care of each other."

And oh, sweet Fredo, obviously she didn't mean _that—_

Except when Trevor looks up, catches Fiona's eyes over his shoulder, there's something strikingly vulnerable in them, vanishing as soon as it comes. Replaced with some obstinate expression even as she extracts her hand from Alfredo's gently. And maybe he just read her better than Trevor knew how to yet.

But then he notices even from this position, the tips of Alfredo's ears burning red, and Trevor looks down before he can turn around.

 

/

 

Ryan comes around. He always does.

Fiona doesn't, quite, get the hint.

 

/

 

"Was a can of beans in a toilet worth it, Jeremy."

Jeremy's offended gasp is maybe a bit too funny for their current situation, inconsiderate Jeremy, he's trying to stave off a nervous breakdown and laughing wouldn't help. "Why are you blaming me?"

"I'm going to whip this tin at your small bald baby head and use your prone body as a distraction."

He throws his hands up. "Shamway's normally have more food in them!"

Which isn't wrong, but. Acknowledging that isn't very convenient for Trevor's needs right now. Specifically, the need to pass blame and also distract himself from whatever he's looking at. Which apparently Ryan doesn't agree with because he's got his face pressed against the glass as he shushes them. Rude.

"Can you shut up, I'm trying to figure out how many dogs are out there."

"At least one." Jeremy offers helpfully.

"All of you _shut up_."

Now Trevor gasps in offence. Says, "We didn't even say anything that time. Right, Fiona?"

And the shoe drops.

And now Jeremy's pressed against the glass. "Uh, guys,"

It feels like all the air gets punched out of him, spotting her. Time slows down to a fraction of a second. There's this sickening scrape of claws against metal that Trevor swears echoes in his head as the doberman snaps at her heels. There's this burning in his lungs as he forgets to breathe.

Frantic scrambling on top of a car and notching her bow at once.

One down but there are three more coming and one of them has half a body on the hood —

A _thundering_ crash to his left as their makeshift barricade gets knocked over and Ryan's running and he's running and Jeremy's fumbling to pick up his axe and —

Ryan grabs her shoulders first. Looking her over and still once the dust settles. Trusting Trevor to finish off the stunned dog at his feet.

"What were you doing?!" Ryan yells, and Trevor doubles over in relief.

"What?" Fiona yells back. "Why'd you run out here? I had things handled!"

"You had _four_ dogs on you." Jeremy mumbles incredulously. Ryan just takes this as a reason to give her another once over, _make sure_.

"I was _trying_ to distract them. I could've made it to that apartment building fine, probably." She explains like they're dumb, like she's talking to a bunch of babies. But she's quieter now, Ryan still not letting go of her shoulders and she stares. Quieter still when she says, "And you guys could've snuck out the back. "

"We could've waited them out, Fiona." Trevor says, finally. "Wait and then return home easy. No danger necessary."

"I—" She blinks at him, confused. Unsure, eyebrows scrunched up in a way that betrayed her age and she really was, too young. "We didn't find any food besides some beans."

And Trevor's two seconds from going _so?_ but Ryan jolts, pulls her eyes back to him. "You thought you'd just leave because we didn't find enough food?"

"Um," Fiona says, intelligently, unable to finish her thought because Ryan's crushing her against his chest.

 

/

 

They make it through two more grocers and a diner before heading back. Surprisingly, a funeral home on the way out of the city ends up being where they find someone's stash of provisions between the shelves that should leave them good for another week, and Jeremy comes out of it with a how to manual on building your own sledgehammer that he's very pleased with.

There's little incident after the dog fiasco but if Fiona's a little too quiet and Trevor sticks a little too close by no one mentions it. No one mentions it when they get back to the house either.

Running into Gavin and Matt on the front porch, coming back from a water fetching trip, and Jeremy's already lightening the mood.

"Matt, we got you dinner! Found this in a toilet!"

"Toilet beans!" Gavin squeaks as Matt tries to hot potato the can between his hands like that'll stop them from being fucking gross.

Everyone pauses when Ryan plucks it out of the air, rolling his eyes. "Wash it off and it's fine, you big babies. I'll eat them." Gives them all a passing glance as he turns to the lake.

Gavin makes a face at his back, retching, as Jeremy ushers them all inside, cajoling them to help him sort the food out into protein and carbs, non-perishable and not-dangerously-perishable. Trevor's about to head in after them but catches Fiona standing so still by the porch. Eyes to the waterfront where all there is to see is Ryan's back crouched down by the reeds, something guilty in the too tight line of his shoulders.

Wraps an arm around her, lets her lean in if she wants. Tries not to take it personally when she doesn't.

 

/

 

For all that Alfredo takes a shine to her, Fiona latches onto him right back. Similar humour and an easy rapport and a penchant for being complete deviants at any given opportunity.

"Fiona," Alfredo _flounces_ from across the storefront of the Crack-a-Book they've broken into. " _Fiona_ , you gotta check this out."

Just, the biggest gasp.

"Oh, those some _big_ anime titties."

Trevor rubs his temples, he's just trying to sift through the fifty how-to manuals on making your own leather boots for something useful, meanwhile. "Can you two go be godless somewhere else, absolute heathens."

Alfredo goes, "Trevor, this is what's left of humanity's art history, show it some _respect—_ " at the same time as Fiona turns over the dvd, yelling at the back cover, " _How's_ any woman supposed to take that many—"

Trevor cuts them both off with the _ching_ of popping the cash register open and resolutely refuses to look up. "It's probably covered in old jizz."

Despite her bravado, Fiona drops the case immediately, throws it across the room. Despite his resolve, Trevor breaks composure, doubles over laughing, as she chases Alfredo down to wipe her hands on his shirt.

Rights himself in time to see Alfredo grab Fiona around the waist, spinning themselves in a circle and trying not to bash every single shelf in reach as Fiona flails, all giddy laughter and threats of violence and the dusty sunlight cutting their dancing silhouette stark and glowing from the dingy bookstore walls. They're being so dumb and so loud and Trevor finds he doesn't have the heart to shush them, it's barely noon and they can afford getting sensed by a couple of solo wanderers. Finds Gavin giving him this _look_.

So very amused and so very insufferable and Trevor hates him, truly.

"Christ, you're as bad as Ryan."

And—

That's just insulting. Not to mention _blatantly_ untrue. It has to be, because no way.

"No one on earth is as romantically challenged as Ryan," states matter-of-factly, because that's just the honest truth, "and that's _counting_ the zombies—"

Trails off because Gavin's got this little smirk on like he's won the argument with just that and Trevor trips on his own tongue. Gavin's squinting at him, nose is hiking itself up higher and higher on his face, and Trevor's going to maim him. He's only barely distracted by Alfredo and Fiona still bouncing around like fools in the background.

"You wipe that smirk off your damn mouth, Gavin Free, so help me god."

He's tittering, satisfied with whatever petty win he got from that. His face going from smug to contemplative as he looks Trevor over, allowing himself the time to think about something beyond making Trevor's life difficult for the sake of it. "I don't know why you keep pretending this thing with your boy isn't happening."

"Nothing's happening."

"There you go again!" He says, and when Trevor shoots a look over at the front of the store Gavin at least has enough shame to look apologetic. Takes pity on him and lowers his voice, "It's all getting a little bit ridiculous now, don't you think?"

"Well, I hardly see how it's any of your business."

Another _look_.  "Fredo's my friend, too, y'know."

And, yes, of course. Of course Trevor knows. Knows the implication of him saying that, too. That Trevor's not only screwing himself over here, but.

Despite himself, his eyes flicker back, and Gavin must see something _else_ , because. Because Gavin's perceptive in the worst of times, and he knows Trevor is as well.

"Oh." Gavin says, like it's just that simple.

Maybe in a few months he'll be able to find this vaguely amusing along with all the rest, laugh at the bigger joke he's made of himself, but as it stands when he turns back around Gavin doesn't stop him.

 

/

 

The thing with Trevor and Alfredo is that Trevor will turn and Alfredo will be there, smiling and ready and knowing him better than he knows himself, like they've been together their whole lives. They've never had to talk about anything.

And Alfredo catches his eye over Fiona's head and knows they'll never talk about this, too.

 

/

 

All Trevor wants is for this little gang of ragtag idiots to be safe and alive and together. That's all he asks for. That's the least this shithole should give him, after everything.

Safe, together, preferably with all their limbs and extremities but Trevor's not picky. He asks for so little of the universe, and he just wants this one thing in return—ten things, sue him. But they're just smart as bricks aren't they, beautiful brainless bastards who shouldn't have ever made it this long on their own much less long enough to find each other and Trevor wants—

Trevor wants.

The odds are stacked against him, them, this walking miracle of a family they've made for themselves. Dumb luck showing itself in all the ways Gavin's sprained an ankle in the time he's known him, not necessarily his own. All the harebrained ideas that get into Geoff's head that make him think digging a hole straight into the ground and burying himself alive is what's going to save him from a horde. Michael and Jeremy drunk off their asses from their own moonshine stranded together on a scouting mission in Departure, two minutes to 10:00.  

Ryan always the apex survivalist, but maybe that was just a product of solitude before when it's so easy to convince him to do _anything_ , really, and Gavin's gotten so good at that. Matt with his two left feet and overall apathy to danger, weak willed to peer pressure and the stupidest bravery in the worst (drunkest) of times. _Lindsay_.

Sometimes he thinks Jack is the only other person with their head screwed on straight and then she'll turn around in a brief lapse of sanity, makes a suicide run for supplies she _absolutely needs, Trevor_ , whatever new schematic she's trying to figure out lying still on her workbench.

They've got precious little sense between them and all the stubbornness left in the dying world, Fiona especially. _Fiona_ , especially. Cocksure in a way that scares him because she doesn't know her own limits and that's alarming in a way none of the others are, distressing in a way none of the others are because Trevor's not sure if she knows yet, that she has to come back. At the end of the day, she has to come back to them.

And Trevor looks at Alfredo dancing in the middle of destroyed church pews because they're locked in for the night, no need to be miserable about it and really, he's just trying to make them laugh. Alfredo taping up torn out pages of a porn mag around their safehouse of the week, because, Trevor, if a man can't appreciate some good thighs in the apocalypse what are we living for. Alfredo kiting seven zombies at once, hauling a deer carcass on his back because he wanted to drop it at Trevor's feet with the joke _for your favour, my lady_.

Alfredo not quite taken to shadowing Fiona on scouting missions, but teaching her how to use a bow better, because he knew Trevor was worried. Alfredo reaching past her shoulders, arms pressed together to readjust her aim, stumbling over himself after getting too close, Fiona laughing loud and mocking to hide the flush high on her cheeks.

Alfredo bringing Fiona little gifts too, because they've both noticed she came to them with nothing but the clothes on her back, and maybe he's trying to give her a reason to stay.

Trevor looks, and Trevor wants, more than anything, he _wants_ —

Them to stay safe. To stay alive. To stay where he can protect them.

That's all.

 

/

 

Gavin's sleeping like the real dead on a couch, a rare treat. Normally they would've stripped it for leather by now but the little added comfort was nice to offer—gone and busted up his leg again and they all had to settle somewhere a little worse for wear than Trevor would have liked for the night. Given him absolute shit for it earlier in the day of course, but now Trevor watches Ryan carefully drape an extra blanket over Gavin with nothing short of amusement, then watches as he backs out of the room with a finger to his lips and a half-joke warning in his eyes to never speak of this come morning.

He's got his forehead resting on the windowpane, glass cool against his skin through the grime as he turns to keep level watch on the streets below. A loose grip on the bow and quiver by his side. Apart from Gavin, the room is a mess of limbs and bedrolls—Lindsay and Matt were especially prone to octopus-ing. Trevor huffs a little at the sight of Alfredo and Michael trying to out-koala each other, and Jeremy trying to get as far away from everyone as he can manage even in his sleep.

Trevor's trying to let the not-quite-quiet sound of seven people snoring soothe some of his uneasiness, but even when most of the world is rotting a city never sleeps it seems, and all his ears seem to focus on is the heavy aimless footfalls rushing below them. This isn't the first time their whole group has had to weather a city center through the night, but that didn't stop him from feeling restless, anxious. An apartment building is a deathtrap of an in a pinch sanctuary.

His wandering gaze comes to rest at the foot of his chair, where Fiona's half sitting, using a blanket to prop her up, bedroll pooling at her waist, eyes both at once vacant and trained on the door like it could get up, walk away.

"You, my dear, darling Fiona, should be resting." Trevor says, after a minute. Stresses, really.

A start. Shake of the head. She comes back to herself and ignores his advice entirely, cradles her face between her own hands to smile disarmingly at him. "Any more beauty sleep for all of this and it'd just be excessive." Smiles brighter when he can't quite keep the corners of his mouth in check.

"Well, why am I taking first watch then?"

"You always take first watch," Fiona replies, too quick for all the truth in it, and Trevor has a sneaking suspicion it's just to fill the silence than any real pass of judgement for all that it makes his throat tighten, "you don't have to just sit there. Not right now, at least. Other people are still awake."

He tuts disapprovingly. "Geoff and Ryan are hardly people, come on now."

An easy peal of laughter that throws her head back, and her giddy laugh is truly infectious, makes you think you're the funniest person in the world, makes him hide a grin in his shoulder. Passes it off as casting a concerned glance across the room, shushing her for propriety's sake.

The noise makes some of the others stir, Michael turning away from it, clinging to Jack instead. Freshly disentangled, Alfredo slings an arm around Fiona's waist, eager to leech new warmth, and she groans, but makes no move to push him off.

"I wasn't really claustrophobic before, you know." She waves a hand like that'd make the non-sequitur seem more casual. But it's an explanation, a subtle plea for Trevor to not ask for more of one. "But it's hard, now. I can't sleep."

"I get that." He says mildly, and he doesn't, truthfully he feels the best when everyone is in eyesight, but right now that seems like all she needs.

Fiona must stay up for another hour at least—Geoff's come into the room now to join in the cuddle pile, Ryan probably out till morning nearly getting killed exploring the whole building for no reason—and their conversation tapers off into a simple lull. But as the dead outside move on, unable to sense with no noise, he finds himself drifting back to her. She's staring at Gavin, eyes tracing his splinted leg propped up on the couch armrest, arms wrapped tight around her knees.

She notices him watching and almost shrinks into herself, further into Alfredo’s arms though he doesn’t know if that’s on purpose. Something about that seizes him. Something about the way they look, huddled together, pressed back to chest. The dim torchlight colours her eyes like dark honey as Fiona meets his, gaze wide, flickering. Looking for something.

"Sometimes—" She starts, stops, tries again. "Sometimes all you got is running away."

"Even if you don’t know where you’re going?" He says quietly, and she's already shrugging before he finishes the question.

"You don't know where you're going if you stay, either."

He's being given something, here. Falters with the realisation of it. Turns to the window to give her some peace as she lies down, makes moves to truly try to go to bed. Lets her have the grace of ending this where she wants to, instead of the cheap comfort she hated so much, and she takes him up on it. Done with talking with him when only the insomniacs and paranoid were awake, unable to sleep, clutching her own knees to her chest.

Mumbles, softly into the quiet. “It might be time we find some place to settle down.”

His breath hitches, when he looks down again, spots Alfredo’s eyes above her head. Steady, and warm, and something close to hopeful.

 

/

 

It'll take a while, but you know how they say there's never a bad time to get into real estate.

 

/

 

Because they are a _democracy_ , Trevor brings the idea up to the group as a whole for discussion. Because they're _them_ , this is a disaster in all possible ways.

Lindsay wants a treehouse. She is immediately counted out when Michael sits on her. Michael wants beachside property, no he doesn't care if they're in a landlocked state. Fiona's just staring wide eyed, sitting next to Jeremy in the hard _no opinion corner_. Alfredo's got his head in his hands, leaning on a wall by the door.

Ryan makes the argument of a house against a mountain face, Jack points out how any bottleneck situation could easily backfire on them if they were overwhelmed with no other way out, Ryan maintains that they won't be overwhelmed in a bottleneck situation because that's precisely what a bottleneck situation _prevents,_ Jack, and Jack calls him stupid. There is a solid very loud fifteen minutes following wherein Jeremy curls up into a ball and yells " _you're tearing this family apart!_ "

Matt doesn't want to live anywhere too hot or too cold, and humidity messes with his hair so nowhere that rains a ton, and nowhere with a lot of fog because that fucks with his glasses, and sometimes he has joint pain and an on-and-off cough so elevation is a no-no, and he gets about halfway into saying they have to take hayfever into consideration before Jeremy takes his face in both his hands and presses.

"That's fair," he mumbles, through fish cheeks. Jeremy just gives him a noogie.

Geoff wants a place near trees. Gavin's fine with anything as long as he's in charge of the interior decorating, which Lindsay jumps up at the mention of, and Michael sits on them both.

Trevor's just sort of letting everything play out. A killer of a migraine is building and he's really just considering knocking himself out with Jeremy's sledgehammer instead of wasting painkillers.

"I'm saying, open space is our best bet. We see them coming from a mile away, and we have enough space for expansion and sustainable living."

"Multiple exits is multiple entry points. It's easier to defend when danger isn't coming from all sides." Ryan repeats.

Jack gives him a smile that's _all_ teeth, opens her mouth, and Jeremy's already sticking fingers in his ears, when Fiona speaks up. "Uh, I agree with Jack."

Jeremy face crumples in dismay at the fact that she's both extending the drama and betraying the sanctity of the _no opinion corner_.

Ryan just blinks. "Huh?"

"Multiple exits." Fiona repeats. "It's fine if they're hidden, or barricaded. But I'm not staying anywhere I can't get out of on my own if I need to."

Ryan opens his mouth, looks to Trevor, but whatever he sees there on his face must communicate how much of a lost cause it is, to continue to argue. This is it, her hard veto.

Jack is _gleefully_ smug.

 

/

 

It's a while before they find the place. Just long enough for the rest of them to forget they'd ever planned to try and make a home together at the end of the world. Just long enough for Alfredo to start making these wry little smiles at the ground, like he's laughing at a joke at his expense.

They don't realise this is it at first, it's just a log cabin like any other they've been to. Lakeside and quaint in the way all things were now that there was no one to maintain them.

"Christ, these curtains are ugly." Gavin says, throwing them open to air out the attic. There's precious little that hasn't already been scavenged but the wood furniture is mostly intact, which in itself is something of a miracle. Michael's already making quick work of repurposing an empty bed frame into a drying rack with some of Jack's spare wire that very occasionally he'll use to poke Gavin in the meat of his shins.

Ryan sticks his head in through the window, doing _something_ or other on the roof. No one in the room pays him any mind. "They look like they belong to someone's grandmother."

"Don't say _that_ , you'll make me sad, Ryan." There's a pause. "Not that you're not right. I wonder if I can find any menthol under the couch cushions."

"Oh, I don't think you'll want anything from in between there." Trevor says, with this look to his face, because.

Alfredo's doubled over, helpless and giggling at Fiona, who's hacking out her lungs in the aftermath of a dust cloud after she dive bombed into the couch.

When Gavin gags Trevor pretends it's from the dust bunnies.

 

/

 

Jack starts rebuilding her workbench down in the basement and won't be heard from for the better part of the week aside from the occasional heavy _clang_ and _fuck, shit_. Making up for time wasted between brandishing wrenches at Geoff for intruding into her sanctum and farting because he can't help himself and sending Ryan out on errand boy missions with his tail between his legs whenever he tries to help.

One night on day-god-knows-what Trevor's sent down to bring her food and sees before he hears the quiet excitement in Jack's running commentary, face bright for having someone to actually listen and not argue as she looks at Fiona perched there on some storage crates, legs swinging and watching Jack work with rapt attention. And they all do take it a bit for granted, how they got stuck with the one person out here risking their life trying to rebuild society from heaps of scrap metal.

Jeremy's setting down a row of chairs by the lake because it's been _so long_ since they've been to a waterfront and he's excited to fish again. With Geoff and Matt pretending to help, but really just asleep in the moderately comfortable dining chairs Jeremy'd already drug out there in between wrestling chairs from Geoff as he tries to throw them into the lake in a fit of cheeky bastardry. Evenings after are spent soaking up the cool air misting off the water, watching Jeremy catch dinner and Geoff try (mostly fail) to.

(And watching Matt try to make animal friends, feeding the few milling waterbirds some scavenged seeds because _bread's got no nutritional value for them, don't be a dumbass_. And watching him run away from angry undead geese because Matt _never_ learns.)

Trevor has to ask Geoff _kindly_ and _politely_ if he would start the long and arduous process of building a water filter from an old tin barrel filled with layers of sand and gravel. Asks Michael to help because going back and forth from the lake all day is 'dumb-dumb easy' and Michael takes to it much more readily than Geoff, who's being very rude cursing Trevor out just for wanting the house to be stocked with enough clean water to boil for eleven people.

And no one's quite sure what Lindsay does ever when left to her own devices, but when they ask Michael he doesn't seem that concerned. Later one day she'll come back out of the woods with bruised knees and five pheasants strung up by their legs and nothing else but the cheek splitting grin on her face, not even a bow, and Michael will be _very_ concerned, because _how_ , but it's Lindsay, and she brought back dinner, so.

Michael will still grumble, but he'll also squish her dirt covered face between his hands and tell her to wash herself off in the lake, before he takes the meat to the back to salt and preserve.

Ryan sets to work securing the house, reinforcing the doors, the windows. The roof becomes his little pet project as he works to make it a good lookout point and because Ryan's a little bit insane keeps trying to convince Trevor to let him install "murder holes" which "aren't as terrifying as they sound" only because "it would be really cool to pour hot sand on a zombie."

"They did it in the middle ages." He stresses, and then pleads. "Just one tiny murder hole. A little one."

Which doesn't make it any better, Ryan? Where would they get the hot sand, Ryan? No. Help Alfredo carve arrowslits through the walls like any sane person and be a productive member of this household, Ryan.

Gavin soothes the ache of not being allowed to affix medieval torture devices to the house by leaving a dug up beaten shrub—withering in a pile of dirt and broken terracotta—smack in the middle of the roof, for reasons. Ryan looks at it with something that must be pity, but the next time Trevor comes up there it's miraculously still alive, thriving, all but a miniature tree still as dumb and half-dead looking. It's a metaphor, Ryan says, putting away a watering can, very apt for them.

They all fall into their bizarre normal, having started over so many times now.

It's a few long hard weeks until they make a respectable base out of the place, but it's fun and haphazard and ridiculous. It's them.

 

/

 

There's quite a bit else they have to do before they're done, and the biggest thing is securing the area. What direction to go for the scavengable ruins of civilisation, what direction to the nearest trader. Make sure they aren't too close to a radiation zone and if they could find a car battery along the way, no rush but, it'd be swell.

Ryan's got this insane idea to strap a rotor to Matt's bicycle, see, and if it works they might have a minibike, and if it doesn't it might explode.

It's how Fiona and Trevor find themselves stranded on the roof of a pharmacist's in the middle of a roadside ghost town on a simple scouting mission. In their defense, Ryan is definitely not heading back tonight either, and he's pretty sure they let Jeremy out with half a stash of booze so, Trevor thinks they should be afforded a little leeway here for doing something as excusable as losing track of time with things like. Well. He doesn't know exactly, but the point does still stand.

"Was whatever you found in there worth nearly getting swarmed?"

“Yeah? Duh.” she says mildly, and Trevor doesn’t know how to respond to that so he doesn’t, she putting extra effort into seeming tranquil and mellow and all that means with Fiona is he's going to get stabbed for asking one more question.

They’re in relative silence for fifteen seconds before, “Wanna cuddle for warmth?”

“Jesus Christ, woman,” Trevor buries his head in his hands and laughs.

“I’m _coooold_.”

“Are you.” He mumbles into his palms, and she snickers. Sidles up to him anyway. The old hoodie she dug up from the rubble of an abandoned apartment _is_ warm, and really, Trevor would be a mad man to pass up on the allure of a sweet polyester blend. Her hair tickles the underside of his chin and it’s very distracting actually, Trevor can hardly keep a lookout for vultures like this, be more considerate, Fiona, gosh.

It's fun, this easy flirting. Livelier, less expectant than Alfredo's half-jokes, gentle brushing touches that stain his skin with how much they always _mean_ something. It's feelgood and light, leaves him buoying and struggling to find a balance between being thankful this is all it is and—

Fiona hums, Trevor feels it in his throat. Uses his distraction to grab his backpack with barely a 'gimme' as she shoves her hand in, looking for water or yucca and he laughs. Really, she's unfair. "You're just going to make yourself colder."

Doesn't sound that broken up about it when she says, "Oh no, then I guess we'll have to cuddle tighter."

Eyebrows waggling in some cheeky grin that either she or Alfredo must have spawned and copied from each other because they've both been doing it far too often for a few weeks now, always at him (sometimes at Jeremy, too, because Jeremy is the most flirting adverse person still alive and his face will scrunch up like he ate a lemon).

He doesn't quite manage to stop himself smiling. It must be the sappiest expression because she blinks, caught off guard, and they're left staring at each other for a moment.

Moment's broken when she looks down with a pleased little face, bashful and smug all at once.

Trevor would look away too, but.

"It's so quiet now." She winds their arms together, taking his hand to brush a thumb over it's back in a way that makes Trevor's throat tighten. "I forgot how nice it was to just have people around, you know."

"They wear you down eventually." He replies, all fake ease.

Fiona snorts, doesn't look up as she tucks herself back under his chin. Doesn't see the look on his face as he tries to lie to himself about whole hosts of things, but she does feel the hitch in his breath when she says, "I wish Alfredo were here."

When he wraps an arm around her this time, she does lean in.

In all honesty, it's probably for his benefit.

 

/

 

They get back maybe a day later than they should have and Fiona cuts off the beginnings of Alfredo's conniption with a bunch of fluttering hand waves in his face till he shuts up. Rummages elbow deep through the water and yucca in Trevor's bag and nearly slaps him in the face with how fast she pulls god knows what out.

"Here," and she's got a tiny weathered box in her palm, a faded impact font _ultimate_ along the front— "Half the set's missing, but it's probably salvageable, right?"

Alfredo's staring. And Fiona keeps talking. To fill the silence.

There's even a shrug like that'd make it casual.

"I thought you'd like it. Wouldn't leave my damn head, so."

Here's the point, Trevor thinks, where if Alfredo were a smart man he would have kissed her.

But they're all kind of idiots, aren't they.

 

/

 

It's kind of the worst game in the world, so perfect for them because it finally gives Trevor incentive to blame Geoff for all his problems.

The worst game in the world becomes just, the _worst_ game in the world when Jeremy's around to play it, turns out.

Turns out Jeremy's just the worst in general but that's hardly a surprise.

 

/

 

The sun is disappearing below the conifers and flittering through the leaves and branches. Yellow evening light warming the wood and instilling the house with a sort of laziness that settles deep in the bones, makes a place for itself in the marrow, leaves the problem children sprawled in the long grass out front not quite sleeping but not making nuisances of themselves either and that's all Trevor can ask for, really.

Jeremy's trying to teach Lindsay to fish with varying results, and one of them at least is going to come back drenched to the bone. Gavin's weaving weeds into Ryan's hair, getting the occasional fly swat for his trouble. From this angle he can keep an eye on them all and the treeline. One of Matt's feet is hanging off the veranda, and Trevor tilts his head curiously at it, must have climbed up on the roof to pass out in peace.

It's all very picturesque until Geoff shoos him off the porch and back inside, brandishing this bizarre little paperback that Fiona picked up for him because she's begun to do that, too. Annoyingly insightful in the worst of times.

"I'll watch over the kids, dear," he says, voice pitched up and scratchy because he's an asshole, "so stop fucking hovering. You're ruining the atmosphere."

Scoffs, even as he gets up anyway. "You're just too lazy to bring your own chair out here."

A chuckle, a little lopsided grin, because he knows Geoff and knows he's right

Jack smiles at him tiredly from the open kitchen when he walks in. She's got a stash of canned food balanced precariously on her forearms, prepping for another week holed up with her schematics and metalwork

It's not worth the effort but she gives him a little half salute anyway, that Trevor barely catches because he's looked at the rest of the room and, well. Distractions.

Jack snorts as she moves to leave, and then says, "God, I do not miss being young and dumb." It carries across the room, too loud be anything but intentional.

"Make sure the door hits you on the way out, Jack." Alfredo says cheerily, doesn't even look at her and gets a finger for his trouble.

Lying flat on his back long and languid across the couch cushions, two pairs of calves half off the armrest because they're all a bit too tall for their own good. He's got an arm thrown over his head to block the sunbeam hitting his face and another wrapped around Fiona, soft with sleep, curled and tucked safe into his chest. They're both outlined in a fraying gold and if Trevor were allowed he would've liked to just sit and look for a while.

Trevor imagines he must have a truly, helplessly, compromising look to his face, because Alfredo grins sappy and sweet when he catches his eye.

Takes the chance to do that thing with the eyebrows. "It'll be a tight fit, but,"

Drops the sentence open ended for him to finish, and Trevor laughs at his chutzpah. "I'm good here. Enjoying the view."

"It's because you don't wanna get sweaty, don't lie." Alfredo says easily, because he knows him and knows he needs the out.

He's thankful, really. So much. "You caught me."

Alfredo makes to rub a hand down his face, gives up halfway through to just leave it there. Shoots him a wry look through the gaps in his fingers. Something more fond than it is annoyed, but there's a fair bit of both there, Trevor won't lie. "How long's it gonna be one step forward two steps off a ledge with you, Trevor?"

Opens his mouth—

"Because I'll wait." Alfredo cuts him off. "Don't get me wrong."

Eyes steady, earnest, rooting him to the spot.

"And you know, it might be wishful thinking on my part, but I think she will too."

Time slows to a gentle hold with the pause. Only starts again when he remembers how to breathe.

All Trevor can do in this moment is lean down, watch Alfredo close his eyes as he blocks the sun, slots their hands together with something wrapping taut around his chest, his heart. The wooden couch frame creaks with it, and he shifts his weight more evenly, considerate of Fiona still fast asleep on Alfredo's chest.

"I'm sorry."

Tightens his grip, because he is. Because Alfredo needs to know.

It makes all his excuses catch in his throat, when Alfredo blinks his eyes open, looks up slow and warm at him.

"A little while more, then." Alfredo says, forgiveness folding easily into the smile of his mouth as he draws their locked hands to hold over his chest, pulls Fiona closer with his other arm.

 

/

 

Should've figured, really, that you can't expect things to just stay benign and domestic at the end of the world.

 

/

 

Matt barely stumbles two steps into the cabin with a broken leg and Michael's already shouting.

"We have one roll of duct tape left, you assholes—"

"Yeah, thanks for the concern buddy, really." Matt flaps a hand at him, makes Michael redder. "But we've kinda got a situation here."

And Trevor's stomach drops when Michael shouts anyway, because there's a big bloated looking fella looming behind him in the door frame and then a pop of a shotgun before his guts splatter across the floorboards. Where the body falls Jeremy stands revealed in the aftermath with this strained expression on his face, frantic.

Near drops the gun when he sees Matt. "Did you get bit?"

There isn't any time for the room to absorb the horror of the question before Matt snorts. "Stop being a dumbass."

" _Matt_. I need you to _tell me—_ "

"No, I didn't get bit asshole, now do you want to keep asking stupid questions or should we tell them about the horde sometime today?"

And—

"Horde?" Gavin squeaks, leaning over the banister on the second floor, eyes alert for all that he'd been sleeping just five minutes ago and that finally kicks Trevor's brain into action right as a piercing scream rings from outside the east facing window. Inhuman.

Because they've all gotten a little complacent, you see.  _Trevor_ got complacent, overconfident and too secured. The dead don't care about the home you've made for yourself, they don't care about your burgeoning tentative yearning or your crumbling trepidation.

Forgot, for just a little while, that they're living in hell and that no one stays lucky for long and sometimes, sometimes hordes just happen to you. Roving bands of undead stirred into a frenzy by more than just whatever mindless hunger they feel, something toxic about the misting blood in the air when their numbers get up there that almost makes the sky seem to bleed.

They've got twenty minutes to 22:00.

And that's when Trevor realises it wasn't just Jeremy and Matt on the perimeter.

Oddly, he feels calm.

"Gavin, can you wake the others? I'm going on a run."

Jeremy whirls on him with a startled, "What?" At the same time as Matt hands him a pistol (not the best, but they need the heavy weapons here, don't they).

And it's Matt who answers for him. "Lindsay."

Jeremy stands there, pale faced and helpless.

"It was a big horde, Trevor."

Matt shrugs. "Well, Michael's already gone."

" _What?_ "

 

/

 

There's an awful lot of trust Trevor's placing in them at the moment, but he sees shadows shambling between the trees and there's just no time to make sure of anything. Slips out quiet from a backdoor in the opposite direction even though he knows Michael's not smart enough to be thinking about that, (worst sense of direction out of the lot of them and Trevor's going to kill him himself when they find each other).

Tracks them down by following a split in the horde, where some of the dead splintered off in lieu of closer prey, breaks into a run when he's certain of the direction and doesn't mind the trailing stragglers at his heels.

By the time he finds them _Michael's_ the one half way up a tree, somehow. And Lindsay nearly blows his head off.

"Whoa! Easy!" _She_ says, like she's the one with a gun pointed at her head.

" _Really_ , Lindsay?" He says, because he can't believe her on a normal day.

There's a stream of expletives from the tree as Lindsay fires a bullet past him regardless, knocks down a lumbering woman at his back and they really should stop being complete idiots at some point in this, really. It's just getting inconvenient now.

"How were you going to get back on your own?"

It's a rhetorical question, because they weren't, is the answer. They're all too busy dealing with the sizable chunk of horde following them to reply anyway, but Michael checks him in the shoulder regardless because he's stupid.

Trevor leads the two them on a winding path through the trees because they can't afford to run straight as much as they can't afford the time it wastes and it really just hammers home how they would have gotten turned around fifty times by now, if it weren't for him. And Michael yelling something or other about shutting Trevor the fuck up himself really isn't helping their attention attracting problem.

But really, they've got bigger things to worry about Trevor thinks, as they break in a mad dash once they're past the treeline. Trevor just had to whirl around to shoot at a crawler with a hand wrapped around Lindsay's leg, returning the favour, after all.

Just in time to see the moon come out.

And Trevor thinks, he really would have liked to kiss them at least once.

Barely registers Jack yelling from the back of the house, cellar doors thrown open with a crash.

" _Get in here!_ "

 

/

 

They make it inside through nothing but dumb luck and Ryan being a madman, still taking potshots from the roof even as they hear the front door splintering.

Ushered down into the basement by an overwrought Jack, hair sticking every which way in a bedhead that Trevor marvels up at, from his position collapsed onto the floor.

Lindsay's cackling on the floor to his left about the whole thing being _fun_ , and Trevor's about ready to pass out to be honest.

Before all of his vision becomes just hair, Fiona wrapping herself around his shoulders.

"Fucking _dumbass_ —" Can't even reply before she cuts herself off, punches him right in the sternum, knocks all the air out of his lungs. "What were you doing?!"

Finally Trevor says, breathless, "Being a dumbass."

She just makes this _noise_ , and then there are strong arms wrapped around them both, sitting them upright. And wow, seeing both their faces now sure is a sight for sore eyes.

Alfredo huffs, but he's too relieved and it comes out watery, suspiciously like a sob. "Flatter us sometime when you haven't just come out of a near death experience, why don't you."

Oh, he said that out loud.

Fiona gives him a wobbly giggle, hides her face in his shoulder. But Alfredo does manage a proper laugh this time.

"Sure did."

 

/

 

When Ryan almost falls in from the basement's inner stairs, Jack catches him, and Geoff and Jeremy rush to barricade the doors in time for the heavy footfalls already beating down on the floor above them.

Jack sits Ryan down next to all of them in the invalid corner, where Gavin had been annoyingly fussing over Michael and Lindsay, and he diverts an appropriate amount of attention to berating Ryan for being an absolute crazy bastard.

Cups both of Ryan's cheeks like he's imparting some grand wisdom. "Being on a roof doesn't make you a god, Ryan, you goddamned buffoon."

Ryan, for his part, leans into the touch with a grin. "It's worked so far."

"To be fair, we probably wouldn't have made it in without him." Trevor says, amicably.

"Don't defend him, he'll never learn." Gavin snaps at him, and then, reminded that Trevor nearly died too, whirls on him with a shirller version of the lecture Alfredo and Fiona'd already given him.

"Please, god, make him stop." Michael whines into Lindsay's shoulder. Coming down from an adrenaline high and reverting to a five year old.

About a third of their group is useless right now. Lindsay, Michael and himself all jelly legged from their mad sprint, and Matt literally with a broken leg that Jeremy had already helped him splint up. Trevor doesn't really think anything's wrong with Ryan besides him being a dramatic fool and _liking_ Gavin's henpecking, though, so there's that.

But he's not really worried, Jack's made a beast of a bunker. Hadn't even noticed what she'd been doing in all the time she'd been down here, what must have been her little pet project since the beginning. Reinforced the flimsy wooden doors with bolts and iron plating, organized half their canned food supply sitting on shelves. First aid, and bedrolls to spare tucked in a corner, and all their board games—a questionable choice, if they're gonna be locked in here in close proximity for a few days, but Trevor can't really judge when they were all gifts to him in the first place.

Fiona's showing Geoff and Alfredo where everything is while Jack alternates between double and triple checking their barricades. Spent her fair share of time down here to know what Jack wanted to do with the place, she's telling them, as she hands a blanket to Jeremy and gestures to their corner.

"I'm not sharing a blanket with Matt." Trevor says, immediately. Ignores Matt's offended gasp to his right.

Jeremy rolls his eyes at them both, settles down besides Matt himself with an _is everyone happy now?_ type expression.

And because Matt's an asshole, "Ew, B.O."

"Matt, so help me god—"

"Okay," Jack says, cutting Jeremy off and wiping sweat off her brow. "I think we're all good." She barely finishes her sentence before Geoff's pulling her down into a bedroll, because god knows when's the last time she actually slept even _before_ all this.

"What— _Hey_ , fuck off Geoff, I still need—"

"Nope," he singsongs. "It's big baby sleepy bedtime now."

Trevor has to cover his face with both hands as they bicker to his left, and Jeremy and Matt bicker to his right, and Lindsay strokes Michael's hair as he loudly complains about Gavin, Ryan egging him on. If someone asked him about it right now, he'd tell them it was a headache.

Peeks through his fingers to see Alfredo smiling exasperated and fond at the room, and Fiona perched on the workbench like she belonged there, legs swinging. "Me and Fiona will take first watch. And all of you fuckers _do_ need to sleep, Jack."

Really he just—can't believe their luck. Trevor's just glad they're all alive.

 

/

 

Two hours to dawn Trevor blinks his eyes open to see Jeremy on watch now, looking at him with this little pitying tilt to his eyebrows. Gestures down with his eyes when Trevor squints at him.

Trevor blinks at the weight on him, blanket wrapped tight around their three bodies. Looks like they've gotten bold with his near death.

Something _must_ happen with his face then, because Jeremy looks away with a pained groan. "You're worse than Ryan."

Truthfully, Trevor doesn't know if he can argue that anymore.

 

/

 

" _Fuck!_ "

When Trevor opens his eyes next he's watching Michael bash the head of the zombie that dropped down from the second floor (from a hole that was definitely _not_ there before, how did they manage that) through the tangle of Alfredo perched in his arms and Fiona's fingers wrapped in a death grip around his skull from where she had snaked around and climbed up onto his back. Can only imagine the ridiculous picture they must be making.

Michael looks at them like he's too tired to sneer.

"Fucking hell, the three of you are made for each other."

He feels his face heat up at the same time as he feels two sets of arms tightening around him at once.

Fiona's immediately on the defensive. "Jumpscares aren't fun, dude!"

"We're living in the _fucking apocalypse._ "

And they're off, bickering in tandem as they both move to clear out the house. Alfredo climbs out of Trevor's arms as they move to the second floor and yells after them. "Two cans of pears that Ryan's on the roof, already."

Michael cackles when Fiona shouts back, "Chicken soup, if I catch him going out the window!"

"Not the one with the noodles."

"Well, what's the _point_ then?"

When most of the horde had moved on with the morning they all filed out of the basement through the ground doors in the backyard that had saved Trevor, Lindsay and Michael's lives. All dispersing themselves to see what of their supplies they didn't take with them made it out.

Most of the furniture was ruined, doors torn off their hinges. Anything that could be ripped and torn was ripped and torn. All their fresh meat was unsalvageable. Gavin took two steps into the kitchen, nearly threw up from the viscera on the floor, and then because he's a menace bet Jeremy he wouldn't try to skate across it.

It's funny, and completely expected, how quickly they all fell back into their regular nonsense.

Trevor feels a little out of depth, off balance in a peculiar way as he looks around at the broken wood and torn up upholstery. All the more worse off as it seems like he's the only one affected.

Bizarre, really, for all the times this has happened before. They never learn and nothing really changes and every close call is just a funny story down the road. No one was hurt, except Matt, but that's fine. So why is Trevor looking at the torn up couch stuffing with something like grief. Hollow little hole in his chest like something's been taken from him.

There's a crash from the back, before a loud groan and Gavin's squeaking laughter.

In the end all Trevor can do is smile lopsided into his hand. He doesn't want to be ungrateful, after all. Alfredo comes up beside him to throw an arm around his shoulders, and Trevor lets himself lean in because that's just what he's doing now, he guesses. Presses their temples together, closes his eyes. It seems like he's more exhausted than he thought, and Alfredo holds him up steady.

"I'm gonna miss this place." Alfredo says, because they've got the same brain for all that they don't have the same inhibitions.

"Are we leaving?" Fiona pops up again, leaning over the banister, and there's a little flash of panic when it nearly gives with her weight.

"Hey, careful—" Alfredo's already stepping towards her like he could catch her, the idiot, but she pulls back in time anyway. Makes it to the stairs easily and starts hopping down two at a time. Leaps down the last three steps in front of them.

"We don't have to go." Trevor blinks at her. At the wreckage of a room. She doesn't appreciate it. "How hard's a sofa to fix? Or the walls?" She gestures outside. "We've got plenty of wood."

Alfredo snorts because he's a child. They ignore him.

"It's—" Trevor pauses, because.

There's something in his eyes Fiona's looking for, he knows. He doesn't know what she finds when she takes his hand, palms warm as they slot together and squeeze.

"I want to stay." She tells him, earnest in a way that fills that hole in his chest with an ache. Eyes flitting over to Alfredo. "There's a lot to fix up but don't you think it's worth it? At all?"

And Alfredo—

Alfredo's staring at her something like the sun.

"We all nearly died here last night, and you think this is home?" He says, finally. But there's this thrilled laugh in his voice with it that fills Trevor up, and he's not arguing. Not really. His eyes might be wet with some unsaid sentiment and Fiona takes both their hands in hers now, and all he can do is look. 

Ryan chooses this moment to pop his head out from the ceiling and scare the bejeezus out of them like a maniac.

"The tree's still alive!"

Finally takes notice of the three of them sprawled on the floor, hands to chests, and Alfredo aiming a crossbow at him midway caught between fight or flight. Blinks.

"Also, we have a skylight now?"

 

/

 

Rebuilding is hard. Harder, surprisingly, than if they'd just start over, and it takes a while. But it's very them.

 _Gavin_ takes to it with a surprising amount of gusto, now that there's a point to decorating the place, of course. Ryan's errand boy missions have transformed from collecting mechanical parts and scrap metal to picture frames and new curtains and the occasional throw pillow. Ryan gets a little bit too into house plants.

Jack goes all out now that she can, she's got plans for a full building, you see, and it's so like her to immediately start trying to build them somewhere new to stay the second they tell her they're settling down.

Michael hikes buckets of water from the lake to wash the blood and gore out the building, saves what cloth they can, wipes down what windows aren't broken and boards up the ones that are, because no one else seems to care about walking around a house that looks like a sty but him. Past that all Michael does is loudly insist he's done his part, how he'll refuse to lift a finger now and forever after even though they all know he's lying.

Geoff lazes about and pretends to do things when Trevor's looking, and Trevor lets him have the break because he's a benevolent leader. And Lindsay starts the perplexing task of trying to build a smokehouse in the back shed because she found a book that said she could. Forces Michael into helping because she's going to kill herself, obviously.

Alfredo becomes a little overzealous with the trinket shopping. Really, it's getting kind of bad. Brings home a fuck ugly decorative fish lamp at some point that he stuck on the mantle and they're all begging Trevor to stage some sort of intervention because _look at it_. But then he'll come back with some little keychain or stuffed animal, says it's _just for them_ eyes dancing like Trevor doesn't know exactly what he's doing, lets him do, because. It's kind of great when Fiona smiles, isn't it.

And Matt. Matt responds exactly like everyone expected him to.

"Your leg's still broken, asshole, I'm not letting you wander around in the forest."

"We can finally have a pet, Jeremy," Matt hisses, fist wrapped in his shirt, "fucking look me in the eye and tell me you don't want a cat." And Trevor watches as Jeremy looks him in the eye, opens his mouth, and says nothing.

They're out of the house the next time he looks, and truthfully if they died Trevor would not care.

 

/

 

"You think we should have a farm? That's a part of sustainable living, right?" Fiona asks.

Gavin pipes up from the kitchen. "A yucca farm!"

"I'm so fucking sick of yucca, dude. If Ryan comes back with another sackful I'm gonna let the zombies take me, stop _laughing,_ I'm _serious_."

They're sitting around on the floor, leaning against the half ruined couch frame and watching Alfredo mend cushions with patchwork grass fiber cloth and the ugly grandma curtains that got torn up by the horde because they're all kind of assholes, all get lazy sometimes. And as much as he's complaining they know he appreciates the company.

Fiona's got her head on Trevor's shoulder, and he's got his thigh pressed against Alfredo's, and all their ankles are hooked together in a way that wasn't quite comfortable, but none of them are moving.

She's wearing the jacket Alfredo helped patch up that first day she came to them, and she looks down at his hands like she's thinking about it. "I never really noticed, but why are you so good at sewing?"

But Alfredo's Alfredo, so what she gets is, "I'm just really good with my hands, babe."

"Alright," turns away, rolling her eyes, "okay. Sure."

"She's smiling," he stage whispers to Alfredo. Laughs himself giddy when Fiona whips her head around so fast in betrayal he gets a mouthful of hair. Laughs at them, this thing between them. Something so dangerous to let himself get used to, and yet. She's yelling something at Alfredo over his head and Trevor lets his eyes shut, lets his head fall back against the wooden frame and relaxes. Leans further into them, warm and fond and familiar around him.

When Trevor opens his eyes again all he can bring himself to look at is the dust floating gently to the floor, catching sunlight through the window and a beam cuts across the wood, running over their intertwined legs. 

All the affection in the world trapped in this little broken down wooden cabin and it leaves Trevor breathless with something like love.

 

 

 

 


End file.
